


Fucitol

by poD7et



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bad Puns, Chemistry puns, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, The Author Regrets Nothing, Wizard of Oz References, aromatic!dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-19 04:36:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10632330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poD7et/pseuds/poD7et
Summary: The British Men of Letters need Mary's help in obtaining yet another unnamed object. But something's not right. After a meeting with Mr. Ketch, Mary's a feeling they're not in Kansas anymore.





	1. I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> Whoops! My finger slipped. This was meant to be a 1-2k piece of crack. But umm . . . that didn't happen.
> 
> Also, I'm stupidly proud of this. Please feel free to say "I SEE WHAT YOU DID THERE" when you spot my TERRIBLE chemistry puns. It would make me happy.
> 
> I hope to have this all posted by the 18th, but I make no promises.

Mick leaned forward slightly and laced his fingers on the antique mahogany desk. He stared across the table, eyebrows raised slightly in question. His back and shoulders showed the practiced poise of a man groomed for a life in politics (or least someone who wished he had). Everything about him, his voice and his body language, should have exuded an air of calm authority, yet there was tension building in the room that could be cut with a knife. Despite all outward appearances, Mick’s intent was to intimidate. And he was good at it -- great men had crumbled before him. 

But not today.

Mary sat back in her chair, arms crossed, legs crossed, and looking rather cross (and a bit smug) to boot.

Neither spoke for what felt like ages.

The tension was evident in Mick’s face, if only just so. He held back his frustration, but his lips were pressed too tightly together and there were white marks around the skin of his hands where his fingers dug into the flesh.

Mary uncrossed her legs, leaned forward, and asked, “What’s in it for me?”

Mick relaxed. Verbal sparring. He knew how to combat this. “The knowledge that you’d be protecting your home and countrymen.”

“Uh huh,” Mary answered, “But after the last time. My boys . . . how do I know I can trust you?”

“I guess you’re just going to have to take my word,” Mick answered confidently, with a tinge of finality in his voice

Mary raised a finger and opened her mouth to say something, that Mick would never know. She stood and spun on her heel, walking out the door without any indication as to whether she agreed to take this case.

But Mick knew she’d come around.

\--*-----

It was nearly three days before Mick received a text from Mary. She was taking the case, but on ‘her terms’. Whatever Mary thought that meant, didn’t matter. She would find the object and bring it to the Men of Letters. The rest was just details. 

A story not worth telling.

\--*----

Mary found the artifact. It was just as odd as the picture made it out to be. It was made of something that smelled like the ocean. It was all arms, but probably not an octopus because it didn’t have enough tentacles (if that’s what those were). She idly passed it from hand-to-hand as she sat at her boys’ war room table. The _Men of Letter’s_ war room table. A table of war. Is this what she was? A soldier? She was a hunter, sure. But a soldier? Someone whose only purpose was to follow orders? 

No . . .

She fled from that life. Ran away to marry a _normal_ man. Well, not quite. He was a marine. Maybe somewhere deep down this was who she really was -- looking for orders to follow so that she would never have to wonder if she made the right choice. There would always someone else to blame for her shitty decisions.

Mary shook her head. She did her best. She was supposedly in Heaven . . . until she wasn’t. Maybe they finally figured it out. Maybe that’s why she was back. She didn’t think that Sam and Dean’s version of events made much sense anyway. They were certainly an odd couple. And hung around with a rather unangelic angel. But despite the guilt she felt every time the thought crossed her mind, she sometimes thought that the strange trio couldn’t really be a part of _her_ family.

_Ahem._

The harsh sound brought Mary out of her own head. Before her sat yet another member of the British chapter of the Men of Letters. The gentleman before her was a good soldier, and as much as he no doubt would hate the title, a good hunter. If nothing else, he was something that Mary could talk to if she ever felt the need and she knew he would understand.

“Mr . . . Ketch, was it?” Mary asked.

“Ms. Winchester,” Ketch replied.

“Missus,” Mary corrected, indignantly. 

“My apologies, Mrs. Winchester.” 

Mary nodded her forgiveness, although she did not relax. She was not about to let this man gain the upper hand in their exchange.

“I see you found the artifact,” he said, taking a sip of whiskey. He watched Mary eye the glass. With a slight nod and eye gaze, he indicated the bottle on the table and a second empty tumbler. Mary didn’t respond, but Ketch took her silence as an opportunity to pour a glass.

“Oh, uh . . . thanks,” Mary said, her tongue suddenly working against her as the connection between her brain and her vocal chords was severed.

Ketch looked at Mary expectantly. Mary brought the glass to her lips, but her resolve was suddenly steeled. There was a reason she was here and not back with Mick. Mary placed the object she was still holding in her free hand on the table just out of Ketch’s reach. He leaned forward to take the artifact, but Mary smoothly pulled it out of reach.

“So, what does it do?” she asked, hoping her voice sounded as curious and innocent as she wanted it to.

Ketch smiled, showing far too many teeth. “You know what they say about curiosity, Mrs. Winchester.”

“It’s the one thing invincible in nature,” Mary replied without missing a beat.

Ketch’s smile softened. It was no longer predatory, but gentle. “Freya Stark.”

Mary raised her eyebrows. The name was unfamiliar to her, but she didn’t want to seem uneducated. She nodded solemnly and hoped that Ketch didn’t pursue the topic further. Thankfully, Ketch was satisfied. He said nothing, but then Ketch produced an object that looked like a mirror image of Mary’s artifact from his breast pocket.

Mary stared. 

And without realizing it, she found herself holding up her artifact.

Slowly, Ketch and Mary brought their twin artifacts closer together. Neither uttered a single word -- each was holding their breath. Then suddenly, they reached a critical point and the two objects surged forward of their own volition. The union of the two pieces resulted in a flash of light and then darkness enveloped them.

\--*-----

Sam, Dean, and Cas entered the bunker after some quality bonding at a local dive. Sam and Dean, pleasantly buzzed, stumbled through the bunker doors and into Cas who was standing in the entrance, speechless. 

“Cas, you finally feeling something?” Sam teased.

Dean bit his bottom lip, grinning . . . until he saw what caused Cas to stop dead in his tracks.

“Mom?” 

Dean hopped the railing and carefully lowered himself to the war room floor. Sam followed closely behind, taking the stairs three at a time. Cas followed, but kept his distance. 

“Mom?” Dean whispered gently, one hand on the back of her head and the other holding her hand.

Mary didn’t respond.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean growled, as he stomped toward Ketch. “If you killed her, I’ll fucking kill you too.”

Ketch was still as death.

“And don’t think you can get out of it by dying. I’ll kill your sorry zombie-ghost ass. And then follow you down to hell -- I know the king -- and torture your soul for the rest of your afterlife. And then . . .”

And that’s when Dean noticed the strange artifact connecting the two. He looked up and saw that Sam, who stood on the other side of the table, was also eying the thing. Sam shrugged, indicating that he didn’t know what it was and that was all Dean needed to know. He reached toward it.

“Dean,” Sam said, warning in his voice. 

“Sammy,” Dean answered, lowering his hand, “Ketch did this to her. We gotta stop it.”

“But what if . . .” Sam answered.

“What if what?” Dean asked, exasperated.

“I don’t know,” Sam huffed, throwing his hands up in defeat. “Touch first, ask questions later. Do it your way.”

Dean licked his lips, then reached for the artifact. He hesitated, flexing his fingers only inches from the object. Dean took a slow measured breath and held it. He was about to grab the mysterious item when he felt a firm and steady hand on his shoulder. Dean closed his eyes and let the air rush out of his lungs. He turned to see Castiel. The angel’s eyes were opened wide with concern.

“Dean,” Cas said, maintaining eye-contact to be sure Dean would hear his words, “I believe this object may be the only thing keeping Mary alive.”

“She’s alive,” Dean whispered, watching Sam also let out a sigh of relief, “So how do we stop it?” 

“I don’t,” Cas said, looking away, “know.”

“Alright,” Dean replied, trying to move into Cas’s line of vision, “so we hit the books.”

“Of course.”

“Sam, where do we keep the books on this crap?”


	2. Not in Kansas, bitches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, Ketch and Mary regain consciousness . . . sorta . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize if you thought this was a legit story. It all heads to crack!town from here on out.

Ketch opened his eyes. At first he saw nothing. _So this is death_ , he thought. He couldn’t tell up from down, top from bottom, or strange from charm. But the longer he stared into the void, the clearer everything became. It was as if he was seeing for the first time. He saw the world for what it was: a quirk of nature -- a mass of quarks arranged in space. 

And that’s when Ketch saw himself. He himself was also made of quarks. Suddenly he felt very small -- and not just in a cosmic sense. He wasn’t a human and seeing the component parts that he was made of. He was different and he was _small_. Not just as a being in the infinite universe, but he was small relative to the size of a human. He was tiny . . . miniscule! But he was comfortable. And his new form was familiar. A two carbon chain completely saturated with hydrogen atoms. Well, except for one. Replacing one of his six hydrogen appendages was a hydroxyl group.

Ketch examined himself, turning and flipping in the process, and was surprised to see that if he squinted, the shape of his new ‘body’ looked somewhat like a dog.

He took a moment to process this.

He wondered how he was seeing considering how he had no eyes.

He thought about how he was thinking, given that he had no brain.

Was he thinking?

It was all a bit too much. 

And that’s when he realized that in all his spinning he found himself tangled up in another molecule. It was far larger and more complex than himself. It boasted not one, but two hydroxyl groups. And was that a nitrogen? Not to mention that its carbons weren’t simply chained; they were in beautifully stable rings. 

A work of art.

And Ketch was enamoured.

“Excuse me,” the larger molecule said, trying to brush off the nosy ethanol.

“Oh, um . . .” Ketch mumbled trying to untangle himself, “I appear to be stuck.”

“Right. And I appear to be uninterested.”

“Apologies, but it appears I’m _stuck_ ,” Ketch said, hoping it was clear that he was being sincere and not a creep.

And then Ketch saw something he did not expect. All the electrons in one of the ring’s circled counterclockwise at the same time.

_Did she just roll her electrons at me?_ Ketch thought. “It appears that I’ve a partial attration to your negative energy.”

“If you tell me that you’re going to show me your dream stick, I’m calling the CHNOPS.”

“The what?” Ketch asked.

“The big guns. The guys that run this joint. They’re everywhere. And they’ll have no problem taking you apart.”

Ketch swallowed (in so much as an ethanol molecule can). “Apologies again, ma’am. It’s just that I seem to be quite lost,” Ketch said. “So much so that I seem to have forgotten my manners. My name is Arthur.”

“Ketch?!” the other molecule exclaimed.

“I’m sorry, have we met?” Ketch asked, starting to feel a bit nervous. Of course, they hadn’t met. He was a short string of molecules that was (if he read the situation correctly) being accursed of sexual harassment. If he had a collar, it’d be hot under there.

“Ketch! It’s Mary. And I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.”

“Thanks Dorothy,” Ketch replied, tongue-in-cheek.

“I suppose that makes you Toto,” Mary said, stifling a laugh.

Ketch grimaced. “Well, we certainly aren’t _us_ anymore.” Ketch was still unsure what to make of this. He wasn’t even sure if that really _was_ Mary. How could he know? The only thing he had to go on, was his undeniable attraction to her. Although in this place, the bonding certainly felt one sided.

“Anyway . . .” Mary said, avoiding Ketch’s eye, or what she thought was his eyes.

“Yes?” Ketch said, impatiently waiting for Mary to finish her thought.

“I was just thinking,” she said, unsure of how Ketch would react to her thought, “that you sorta look like a dog.”

“Excuse me?”

“Roll over,” Mary commanded.

Ketch obliged.

“Okay, stop!”

Ketch stopped. He was always good at following orders. But upon completion of the task, he realized he was unsure of the point of this particular exercise.

“You see?” Mary asked.

“See what?”

“You look like a dog,” Mary answered. “The oxygen is the head.”

“Of all the childish--”

“Well, if you’re going to trap me like,” Mary indicated her strange molecular form, “ _this_ , then I’m going to have fun with it.” She finished and would’ve crossed her arms if she had any.

“Us,” Ketch grumbled.

“Because of something _you_ did!” Mary exclaimed.

Ketch groaned. “Well, clearly you’ve made up your mind. But if you’d like to get out of here -- wherever _here_ may be -- then we’re going to have to work together.

Mary sighed. “Fine.”

“Okay, so what’s the last thing you remember?” Ketch asked, trying to piece together the events that led up to his new awakening.

“I was in the bunker looking for my boys. And then you were there. And then we were here.”

“Right. Cracked the case wide open now,” Ketch said sarcastically. 

“I’m not the one who dragged us into this hell!” Mary said, exasperated.

“For the love of God! I did not ‘bring’ us anywhere. If I wanted to kidnap you, do you think I’d do such a piss poor job of it?”

“I don’t know,” Mary snapped back, “Do the Men of Letters have plans to kidnap me?”

“Not that I’d share with you,” Ketch replied. 

“What’s your plan?”

“My plan?” Ketch asked, as if he’d never been asked that question in his life. “I don’t plan anything. I just take orders.”

“Oh,” Mary replied, looking far more upset than that comment had any right to make her feel.

“Right,” Ketch said, not sure how to react to Mary’s overreaction. “Now, what is the last thing you remember?”

“I already told you . . . oh!” Mary’s electrons danced excitedly around her rings. “We each had a piece of the artifact that looked eerily like . . .” she paused, searching for the right words. “. . . that,” she finished, gesturing to a molecule behind Ketch.

Ketch turned and saw six carbons and nearly as many hydroxy groups blunder toward them. There wasn’t enough time to dodge. Ketch braced for impact.

But it never came.

Ketch slowly turned to face his “attacker”. Mary stood stoically at his side.

“What’s up, bitches?” it greeted all too chipperly.


	3. Fucitol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ketch and Mary get to know a new molecule who gives them some vague, yet helpful advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why are you still reading this? Seriously . . .  
> I'm judging you.  
> I recognize you're also judging me.  
> I wrote this crack.  
> And it's only going to get crackier the further I go . . .

Ketch knew the informal greeting from the boys’ file. It was quite comprehensive. If you delved deeply through the documents and read between the lines, you could really start to understand their relationships. The Winchester files were quite large, but Ketch didn’t leave a single document unread. He took a great pride in his work. 

“Hello, Ms. Middleton,” Ketch greeted. He was rather proud of himself for recognizing the former employee of Richard Roman Enterprises and hacker extraordinaire, in molecular form.

“Do I know you?” she asked. 

Ketch was put off by her tone of voice -- that is, if her electrons were a reliable sign to go by. He watched as they stopped excitedly jumping between levels. They slowed so much that he almost thought he could see them. 

“And it’s Fucitol,” she added.

 _Fucitol?_ Ketch thought. He felt so sure this was Charlene Middleton. Was he wrong? It wasn’t an unreasonable assumption. Although, it also wasn’t unreasonable that someone else would use her trademarked greeting. However, what were the chances that he’d be working on a Winchester case and run into someone who would use the same phrase and _wasn’t_ Charlene? He didn’t know the answer, but he imagined it would be something like a snowball’s chance in hell.

“Language,” Ketch warned, keeping his thoughts to himself. 

“No,” she said, aware of the implication that the ethanol was making. “It’s not -- every time I meet someone -- I wasn’t -- my _name’s_ Fucitol.”

“My apologies, Ms. Fucitol,” Ketch replied. “Oh where _are_ my manners? My name is Arthur Ketch and this here is my partner, Mary.”

“It’s all good,” Fucitol said, briefly inverting the orientation of her alcohol groups in what Ketch assumed must have been a gesture of happiness.

Ketch did his best to smile, but Mary was speechless. 

Fucitol muttered something under her breath about Middleton being at least three or four lifetimes ago followed by an awkward silence. 

Mary was the first to break the hush. “I’m sorry, but _what?!_ ”

Ketch and Fucitol stared at Mary in shocked silence.

“Fuck-it-all? What the hell kinda name is that?” she demanded. “And where the hellare we anyway?”

“Well that depends on your intentions. Are you good guys or bad guys?” Fucitol asked, suddenly less chipper than her initial greeting.

“Well, isn’t that an arbitrary question?” Ketch asked, eyeing Mary who seemed to be literally retreating from Fucitol’s words.

“I guess it’s like they say: ‘beauty in the eye of the beholder’ or something, right?” Fucitol rambled. “In that respect, I guess everyone deserves their own narrative. The Big Bad Wolf and the Wicked Witch of the West don’t even look that terrible when given half a chance to explain things from their point of view.”

“Unfortunately, history is generally told from the perspective of the victors,” Ketch added.

“I’m not so sure that _The Three Little Pigs_ and _The Wonderful Wizard of Oz_ count as _history_ ,” Mary said, trying her best not to laugh at the poor guy. He was always so serious.

“Actually,” Ketch and Fucitol began at the same time. Each was surprised to hear the other speak up. And both hesitated to continue.

“Go ahead,” Fucitol insisted.

“Ladies first,” Ketch countered.

“Right,” Fucitol continued, “So uh, Oz? Totally not just a pipe dream by Frankie. It’s really real.”

Mary gasped and Ketch raised an eyebrow. That was decidedly not what he was going to say. It was also completely unexpected. He knew the truth about the three little pigs. More like pig-faced demons. And the “wolf” in this story, while helpful in killing off the pigs, had to be put down by his predecessors. And thus began a long tradition of killing anything even remotely non-human. But Oz? He made a mental note to do some research on the topic when they finally got out of here.

“Get out!” Mary exclaimed, looking to Ketch for confirmation.

“I’m afraid it’s true,” he replied, evaluating Fucitol’s reaction. She seemed suspicious. As if he had no right to know about Oz. 

“So are you a good witch or a bad witch?” Mary asked, quite proud of her clever response.

“I guess only history will tell,” Fucitol answered, staring daggers at Ketch, who did not look away.

“Yeah, well,” Mary said, seemingly oblivious to the tension between the two, “I, for one, would like to get the hell out of here before we _become_ history.”

Ketch’s expression softened slightly. “Agreed,” Ketch added. “Also, where exactly _is_ here?”

Fucitol’s electrons drew in close, tension slowly building. Ketch recognized that she was getting ready for a confrontation.

“I’d like to know too,” Mary answered, thankfully diffusing the situation. 

“I’m not the right person to ask about that,” Fucitol answered, suddenly appearing small, not just in physical size, but presence as well.

“Well, who _should_ we ask?” Ketch asked.

“If I were you,” Fucitol said, muttering something about how she was very glad she wasn’t, “then I’d want to ask H.B.”

“Who?” Ketch asked at the same time Mary asked, “So how do we get to H.B.?”

“You’ll have to head to The Singularity,” Fucitol answered.

“That sounds ominous,” Ketch commented.

“How do we get there?” Mary asked.

“Did you bring your particle accelerator with you?” Fucitol asked.

“No I’m afraid I didn’t,” Mary answered, hoping that no one realized she has no idea what a particle accelerator was.

“Ouch,” Fucitol said, “I guess you’ll be taking the long route then.”

“But how do I start for The Singularity?”

“It’s always best to start at the beginning,” Fucitol answered. “Did you see that big ass tube?”

“What tube?” Mary asked.

Ketch indicated the blue and silver monstrosity beneath them.

“Just follow the blue and silver tube!” Fucitol said, “petting” Ketch on the head and nuzzling up between Mary’s rings. When she was close and there was no way for Ketch to hear, she whispered, “And the name’s Charlie.”

Mary was shocked. Her electrons started jumping to the outermost levels. But before she could say anything, Charlie cut her off. “Let’s just keep that between us for now. There’s something about the other one that feels like bad news bears to me.”

Mary calmed herself. She knew _exactly_ what Charlie meant.

Charlie untangled herself as Ketch and Mary looked down at what seemed to be an infinite length of tube.

“Too bad Sam and Dean aren’t here,” Charlie whispered.

Every hair on the back of Mary’s neck stood on end. She turned to ask Charlie a million questions, but she was already gone.

“Do you think we can trust her?” Ketch asked.

Mary was pretty sure they could, but true to her pact with Charlie, she didn’t want to give away too much. “It seems we have no other choice.”

The unlikely duo began to tumble down the path.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try to get the next bit up before the end of coldesthits . . .


	4. Benzene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ketch and Mary meet another sentient molecule . . .

Ketch and Mary traveled down the pipeline for some time. The trip thus far was uneventful, except for a few minor spats between the two, generally over the invasion of personal space.

“I think I see something!” Mary shouted excitedly.

“Again?” Ketch asked exasperatedly.

“No, I really think I see something this time!” Mary said pointing out something which _could_ be a singularity, or just another mirage in the far distance. 

“Let me take a look,” Ketch said, with the tone one would use when humoring a small child’s flight of fancy. “Where is it?”

“There!” she repeated, as Ketch lined himself up with Mary to ensure he had the same line of sight. But Mary was practically magnetic. Once he got in close, he bumped into the lady.

“Seriously?” Mary asked. It was practically a threat.

“Apologies,” Ketch started, “It wa--”

“Yeah yeah, it was unintentional,” she finished for him. “Are you sure you even know what that means?”

“I’m positive,” Ketch replied.

Mary coughed. “Right . . . and I’m the Queen of England.”

“Why are you so negative?”

“Oh, you don’t want to go there.”

“Oh, but I do!” Ketch answered, clearly flirting.

“You’re sick,” Mary spat.

“No,” Ketched repeated, this time without coming on so strongly. “I have a partial positive charge, and you’re partially negative. Therefore we’re compelled to be together.”

Mary stared at what the pair of them agreed was his face. She was trying to suss out whether there was any truth in what he said, or if this was simply a fiction to keep her pacified.

“It’s science,” he continued. “What do they teach in your schools?”

Mary eyed him suspiciously. And that’s when she noticed the most symmetrical molecule she had seen thus far. But almost immediately after Mary spotted the chemical, it ducked under the pipe. It was strange; they were surrounded by molecules, but outside of Ketch and Charlie, the others were non-sentient.

“Close your mouth, it’s not very flattering.”

“Three things,” Mary said. “One, I don’t have a mouth. Two, the only thing unflattering here is your ugly mug. And three, do you kiss your mother with that mou-- did you see that?!” Mary saw the same molecule (or what she thought was the same molecule) yet again.

This time Ketch saw it too. It was the most beautiful molecule he had ever seen. It’s symmetry was stunning. It’s atoms also formed a ring structure, but without all the bells and whistles of Mary’s form. A simple six carbon ring. But their bonds were different from most other molecules he encountered. Some had single bonds, while others had double, or even triple bonds. But these were like none he had ever encountered before. A stabilizing electron cloud hovered above and below the ring, giving it it’s beauty . . . it’s aromaticity . . . and Ketch had never felt so attracted to anything before in his life. 

Ketch splayed his hydrogen atoms to show he wasn’t hiding anything. He slowly walked toward the curious molecule.

It stiffened, but didn’t run, which only accentuated its planar quality. Mary stood at a wary distance while Ketch slowly closed the distance between them.

Ketch stood nose-to-nose with the molecule, but he didn’t feel the same sort of pull he did when he was with Mary. They just shared the same space, but he didn’t feel any magnetism. But he wasn’t repelled either. Content with the situation, he said, “Hello, there. My name is Arthur. Arthur Ketch. And you might be?”

The molecule looked at Ketch curiously. “Benz--”

“DEAN!” Mary shouted, rushing to it’s side. “Dean! Are you okay? It’s me. It’s Mary. Mom.”

“Mom?”

Mary tried to hug him, but Benz?Dean did not return the affection. 

“Dean?” Mary asked, pulling back to look at her son.

“Dean?” he repeated. “No. My name is benzene. And I’m looking for my brother, SAM.”

“Sammy’s here too?” Mary asked, not quite catching the intent of benzDean’s comment.

“Yeah,” benzDean whispered.

“Where’s Sammy?” Mary asked, looking up and down the blue and silver tube they were following.

“I don’t know,” benzDean said, holding back what would have been tears had he any tear ducts. “We were together and then SAM-e was just gone. And I started to head toward the singularity, but I think I got turned around. I’ve been wandering forever and--”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Mary soothed. “I’m here now.”

“Yeah, that’s real great lady, but my brother’s lost!” He exclaimed, turning away. “He’s the only family I got left,” he whispered.

Mary was heartbroken. After all the time away from her boys (even though it happened in the blink of an eye from her perspective), after fighting for her independence, she missed her boys. “Sam, right?” she asked.

“Yeah,” BenzDean whispered, crestfallen. “We were heading for the singularity. Trying to find a better way, when I . . . I got turned ‘round. And uh . . . well, I ain’t that smart. And I don’t even know if I’m heading the right way anymore.”

“Actually,” Ketch butted in, “we’re headed toward the singularity. Looking for a fellow who goes by the name of H.B.” 

“You looking for H.B. too?” BenzDean asked, unable to contain his excitement. “Some people say he’s just a pipe dream, but I know he’s out there.”

“Yeah,” Mary added, her confidence growing, “sometimes you just gotta believe.”

“I guess, you’re right,” BenzDean agreed. “What was your name again?”

“Mary,” she answered.

“Nice to meet ya, Mary,” BenzDean said, looking much more at ease than at their first encounter.

“Right back at ya,” Mary replied. “Your brother, Sam, what does he look like?”

“He’s a giant!” BenzDean said.

Mary laughed, thinking of how surprised she was to meet her bean pole of a son.

“Hey, this is no laughing matter!” Dean chided. “The kid’s huge!”

“Then how exactly did you lose him?” Ketch asked.

“That’s the point!” Dean explained. “He’s huge! There’s no way I could’ve lost him . . . but I turned my back for just a moment, and _POOF!_ he was gone!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stop. Just stop. Why are you still here? STOP READING!!!


	5. SAM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we find gigantor *cough* I mean SAM, Ketch starts to make moves on Mary, and then there's Fucitol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this and did not edit a single word. Sorry . . . 
> 
> At least I posted something?

“Where were you heading?” Mary asked, trying to soothe Dean, but also gain more information about the whereabouts of her other son.

“Well, we were heading toward the singularity to see H.B.,” BenzDean answered, “but I kept getting turned around and . . . I’m not even sure he’ll even be there if we actually make it.”

Dean turned his back (in so much as a planar hexagonal molecule can do so) on Mary as he tried to compose himself.

Ketch laughed and the sound drew all eyes toward the strange response.

“I would love to know what you find so hilarious about the disappearance of my son,” Mary chided.

“It’s just,” Ketch said, attempting to compose himself, “that this is all so absurd!”

“My son being lost to the void is funny to you?!”

“No, I just . . .” Ketch began.

“Your . . . son?” Dean asked.

Mary looked at the desperateness in her son’s eyes. She had been gone so long. And even though they were in this place, it was clear that it was still her Dean staring back at her expectantly.

“Mom?”

“Dean!” Mary said, embracing her son for the first time in this form. 

“Mom.”

The two shared an intimate moment while all Ketch could do was watch. And his head started to spin. 

No, not his head, the world was spinning while Ketch was still. The surface of the tube that he and Mary had been following was now moving; it looked like grass in the wind.

“Mary!” he called, but the sound from his shout didn’t travel far. Ketch tried to alert Mary and Dean, but they paid him no mind. They were distracted by something else.

Ketch followed their gaze to see a figure in the distance. Immediately he was struck with a sense of recognition, but no matter how hard he wracked his brain, he couldn’t place it. 

As the molecule in question approached, the sense of recognition in Ketch only grew stronger. Then it struck him, that strange girl, what what her name? Fucitol? But it wasn’t her. Something just seemed off even if he couldn’t place his finger on why.

He shook it out of his mind when he realized just how quickly it was approaching. Fucitol or not, he needed to get out of the fucking way. He saw Dean trying, unsuccessfully, to pull Mary away. Ketch joined the campaign, but Mary continued to struggle against them.

Fucitol smiled, its electrons reaching for Mary. 

Dean released Mary and positioned himself between the attacker and his mother, but Fucitol released a burst of energy and sent Dean flying.

Ketch also caught the energy burst. It felt as if all the air had been knocked out of his chest, despite knowing that in this form he had no chest, lungs, or even a need to breathe in the conventional sense. As he too was being flung out into the void, he thought he saw Mary whisper something to their assailant. 

“Charlie?”

And that was the last Ketch remembered before waking up to see his life pass before his eyes. No, not his life, but things were certainly passing very quickly and Ketch was very certain that he wasn’t moving under his own power. He looked down and he certainly wasn’t moving, but looking up again he saw things passing by at quite a clip. 

“So that wasn’t Charlie?” Mary asked.

Ketch had no idea what she was talking about.

“No,” came a reply, “and yes. It’s complicated.”

_Who is that?_ Ketch thought. _And where is that voice coming from?_ _It’s no where and everywhere all at once_.

“I’m sorry to interrupt this nice little chat, but would someone mind filling me in on what exactly just happened?”

“Ketch!” Mary exclaimed barreling toward the poor alcohol. “You’re awake!”

“Where exactly are we?” Ketch said, pretending to repel Mary, but loving every second of fawning.

“Oh, um . . .” Mary looked around, confused, “SAM, where are we now?”

“Winchester?”

“In the skin,” he answered waving his many arms. Ketch looked in every direction it seemed as if SAM went on forever. Dean wasn’t kidding when he said his brother was a giant. 

“What ARE you?” Ketched asked, examining the endless field of molecules. Now they were moving independently, they looked more like a snake or an eel swimming down, trying to dig into the cool exterior of the tube they were following to H.B.

“Is he always this thick or do you think he’s actually hurt?” SAM asked. 

“I said you were too rough with him,” Mary replied, smacking one of SAM’s tentacles.

“I’m right here,” Ketch said, lifting a hand to smack one of SAM’s tentacles, but then thinking better of it.

“I’m SAM, S-A-M,” Sam said with the tone of voice that one may use when addressing a small child who just asked the same question for the twelfth time in a row and will likely ask a few more times after just for good measure. It was that fake sort of pleasant and even all of SAM’s many appendages seemed to be patronizing as well. They all moved in unison while SAM spoke.

“Yes, I can _spell_ , thank you,” Ketch replied.

Mary butted in to explain. “Ketch,” she started still checking him for any sign of injury, “He’s a . . . oh, what was it? A self-applied monomer?”

“Self-assembled monolayer,” SAM corrected, in a way that Ketch knew if they were back in the ‘real-world’ would be punctuated by one of SAM’s trademarked bitchfaces.

Ketch nodded in understanding.

“I never was much of a brain,” Mary admitted, “Don’t know where SAM got it from. Must’ve been his dad.” Mary looked as if she were lost in her memories for a moment. 

Ketch grimaced. John was gone, but he didn’t like the reminder of Mary’s former lover.

Ketch cleared his throat theatrically. “Anyway, whatever happened back there?”

“That was d-fucitol,” SAM answered solemnly, “and she needs to be destroyed.”

“ _THE_ Fucitol? I didn’t realize we had attracted so much attention.”

“Not, ‘the.’ It’s ‘d,’ like the letter,” SAM explained. “d-fucitol.”

“Right, but we met her when we arrived and she didn’t seem quite so . . . aggressive,” Ketch said, attempting to recall if anything from their encounter telegraphed that she had an ulterior motive. She did seem a bit secretive, but nothing indicated that she was a murdering loon. Dean must have done something extraordinary to piss her off like that.

“Not quite,” SAM explained, “I was just getting to that part with Mary.”

“I told you to call me, Mom.”

“Right,” SAM said, suddenly looking both guilty and annoyed.

“So she’s like Cha--Fucitol’s evil twin,” Mary announced.

“ _Mom_ ’s got the right idea. The molecule you met was likely l-fucitol. And they’re not really twins or evil. It’s more like a pair of gloves -- you can’t put the right glove on your left hand -- mirror images. They’re enantiomers.”

“Aunt Em-iners?” Mary asked, not quite sure if SAM was serious or not. “Now I _know_ we’re not in Kansas anymore.” Mary added throwing out the electron equivalent of comedy elbows waiting for someone to get the joke.

SAM looked as if he wished he could run away.

Ketch laughed a little too heartily as he leaned into Mary’s welcoming embrace.

“I hate to break up this little -- whatever this is --” SAM said with no indication that he hated any part of this, “but we should focus on what to do when we get to H.B. and also how we plan to search for Dean, assuming he’s still alive.”

“Well, aren’t you just a ball of sunshine,” Ketch said.

“And of course, Dean’s alive,” Mary said, although she didn’t sound so sure. SAM had shielded her from the brunt of the attack. She didn’t know exactly how hard it hit, but she had an idea. Ketch was partially shielded and he was unconscious for hours. Dean was at ground zero of the attack.

“Let’s just take this one step at a time,” Ketch replied. “Let’s just head for the singularity for now. You are capable of moving and planning at the same time, are you not?”

“He’s right,” Mary agreed, “Let’s get going.”

SAM groaned and started off toward the singularity.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a spncoldesthits. I mean . . . OBVIOUSLY!
> 
> And I'm still not over aromatic!dean. I'm sorry for the person who made the typo that I saw that has brought this down on the world.


End file.
